The Worst Chrismukkah Ever
by the ultimateSora
Summary: It was supposed to have twice the resistance of any holiday, but this turned out to be the worst Chrismukkah ever.
1. Part I

**note:** I did a fic a while ago called "The Best Chrismukkah Ever," so I thought this year I'd do a story about the worst. Hilarity will hopefully ensue. This will be a two-parter.

Don't own MSB.

Enjoy!

* * *

**the worst chrismukkah ever  
**by the ultimateSora

**PART ONE**

**Wednesday, December 21, 2011  
****Chrismukkah Day One. First Day of Hanukkah.**

Despite being environmentally conscious, it was snowy days like these that made Phoebe glad her step-mother bought her a Jeep Grand Cherokee in high school that she still drove. She was also glad Ralphie was a good step-brother and got her snow tires put on. She got in the Jeep, but it wouldn't start. She cursed to herself when she remembered Dorothy Ann was in Minnesota with her family, thus her free mechanic wasn't home to fix her car. She went inside the house for warmth as she called Ralphie to see if he'd let her borrow his Xterra.

"What d'you need, Pheebs?"

"Your car. The Jeep won't start."

"Want me to take a look at it?"

She laughed. "If I want my car to blow up, I'll call you."

"I'm a man! I know cars."

"Ralphie, I live with your girlfriend, who can actually fix cars, including yours, which you messed up while trying to fix. Remember?"

"Whatever. I'm currently playing some _Modern Warfare 3_ multiplayer with Carlos right now, so I'll ask Tim to drive my car over."

"You can't take a break for ten minutes to pick me up?"

"No. I'll see you later, Pheebs."

With that, he hung up. She sighed and decided to make herself a sandwich while she waited for Tim. She took off her coat, tossing it on the couch, and she turned on the TV before going in the kitchen. A bar counter divided the kitchen from the living room, so she could see the TV as she made a strawberry jam sandwich.

Phoebe took off her engagement ring so she wouldn't get jam on it, a ring that Arnold refused to tell her how much he spent on it, but she knew it was beyond what she could imagine. She knew he'd never buy her a simple ring.

According to Arnold, it was "a platinum band with an asscher cut diamond with a micro pavé halo setting." In Phoebe-terms that meant, "Band made of expensive metal with a square diamond that had little diamonds around it and little diamonds in the band, so it's probably worth more than everything you own, plus your soul, Phoebe Terese." Arnold had proposed on her twenty-fourth birthday that past July, and they had yet to set a date, mostly because they couldn't decide on one. So as of then, their wedding date was "Some time in 2013."

She finished making her sandwich, and as she turned to rinse her hands off in the sink, she hit her ring, sending it bouncing in to the sink and down the drain. "_No!_" She stuck her hand in it. "No, no, _no!_ Oh, God, please let me get this ring! I promise, I'll stop having sex with Arnold until we're married- okay, we both know that can't happen, but I'll go to church with Daddy and Suzette more often!"

This was one of the rare times she was glad to have long, bony hands and fingers. And she was also glad to be home alone so no one could accidentally turn on the garbage disposal while her hand was digging around for her ring. On the downside, if D.A. were home, she could easily take it out and get the ring. After all, D.A. was the one who installed it.

The front door opened. "Phoebe?" Tim walked in. "Whoa!" He hurried over to her. "What happened? Your hand stuck?"

"No, my ring fell down the drain!"

His concern was gone. "Oh. Well, you ready to go? Ralphie said you needed his car."

"Tim, do you know anything about taking disposals apart?"

He shrugged. "Can't say that I do. Re-stringing a bass guitar and fixing amps? Totally."

"_Not what I need!_" she snapped. She shook her head. "I'm sorry. It's just- this ring. You've seen it. Arnold spent a fortune on it, I know he did, and my dumb ass had to send it down the drain!"

"Leave it for now. With no one home, where's it gonna go? Plus, Ralphie can come by later and get it for you."

He had a point. "You have a point." She took her hand out. "I'm gonna go wash my hands in the bathroom, and I'll be ready to go."

When Tim heard the bathroom door shut, he turned on the sink in the kitchen. He smiled when he heard the ring clink down the pipe. "And that is that."

* * *

Ralphie wasn't playing _Call of Duty_ with Carlos. When Phoebe called, he was really sitting shotgun in Arnold's 2003 Porsche 911, a car his grandparents gave him on his sixteenth birthday, as Arnold drove them to New York City.

"Tell me again why we're going all the way to New York so you can get Phoebe's Chrismukkah gifts? Providence would have the simple crap she'd love, and it's, you know, closer."

Arnold grinned. "Oh, Ralph Carmine Tennelli, how long have we been bros, and how long have I dated your step-sister, and you still haven't realized that I like giving good gifts?"

"Which time when you dated Phoebe? Part one or Part two?"

Arnold and Phoebe always referred to their romantic relationship as "Part I" and "Part II." Part I was July 13, 2003 (Phoebe's sixteenth birthday) to May 1, 2005 (when Arnold freaked out they were going too fast and broke up with her), and Part II was July 13, 2009 (her twenty-second birthday) to present day.

"Both combined."

Ralphie shrugged. "Well, you did give her that gaudy, rich trash ring, so..."

Arnold playfully punched his arm. "I bought that ring in Manhattan, and you're just jealous my family has money."

Ralphie laughed. "Are you kidding, man? When you finally tie the knot, that money is mine too! Family, man! I'll be at your grandparents' Martha's Vineyard home in the summer and their Vermont cabin in winter!"

"It's a _chalet_, and my grandparents aren't too fond of you after you puked on their yacht and tried to cover it up."

"Wait...the Rosens or Perlsteins?"

"Both."

"Shit. Can't you just tell them it was Carlos, not me?"

"Maybe. First you have to help me shop for Phoebe."

"I'd ask why you didn't drag D.A. with you, but my lady had the smarts to hightail it to Minnesota."

"So, I'm using the next best thing to Phoebe's girl-bro: Her step-brother, who is also my bro."

Ralphie laughed again. "Is it weird that Phoebe and D.A. are to each other like we are to each other, and we're dating them?"

"Well, Ralphie, you know I'm only dating Phoebe because society would look down on me dating you."

They both laughed, and Ralphie reached over to ruffle his hair. "Admit it, man. I'm hot."

Arnold swatted his hand away, hating it when people (that weren't Phoebe) touched his hair, seeing as he spent a lot of time getting it perfect. "Meh, you're not my type. Too big. I prefer partners who are long and lanky. I also like 'em freckly and awkward."

"Yeah, and I like mine tan, blonde, and brainy as hell."

"They would kill us if they heard us talking about them like objects, wouldn't they?"

"Oh, most definitely."

* * *

Tim parked Ralphie's Nissan Xterra in the street outside of the guys' townhouse. "Well, Pheebs, it was a nice ride during the couple of miles from your house to here."

Phoebe smiled. "Always."

Before she could react, he grabbed her by her coat and pulled her in for a kiss. She pushed him away and punched him, trying not to show pain when she felt her left knuckles pop in a way they shouldn't.

"Get out!" she screamed.

"Phoebe, listen-"

"No!" She wanted to punch him again, but her hand was throbbing now. "Get out, Tim! And you can be damn sure I'll tell Arnold and Ralphie about this!"

"I've always had feelings for you, Phoebe! But you were always hung up on Arnold-"

As much as her hand hurt, she wanted to hit him again. "Yeah, because I love him!"

"You never even gave me a chance!"

She used her right hand this time to shove him back. "_It's always been Arnold!_" She took a deep breath to calm her anger. "I'm sorry, Tim, but it will always be Arnold for me. We're going to married some day. I'm going to have his children and grow old with him. I'm going to be Phoebe Perlstein, not Phoebe Reynolds."

"Why him? What's so great about him you couldn't ever give me a chance?"

She sighed, not wanting to get in to it, but she hoped telling him would help him understand she didn't want anyone else. "Arnold's compassionate, selfless, brave when he needs to be, loving, funny, and everything I'd want in a guy. I've had feelings for him since we were kids! On top of all of that, he never makes me feel like I'm not good enough or socially inferior. I'm his equal."

Tim snorted. "I'm supposed to believe his money has nothing to do with it?"

Phoebe wanted so bad to hit him again. "I had feelings for him before I knew he had money, before the Porsche and designer clothes and Black Card." She motioned to the door. "Thanks for the ride, but get the hell out before I punch you again."

He got out, and she moved to the driver's seat. She drove away, her left hand hurting a lot now. When she got to a red light, she took her mitten off and noticed her knuckles were purple, and her whole hand was swollen. Great. Her writing hand was busted. Ralphie had always been trying to teach her how to punch properly, and now she wished she took his fighting lessons.

Part of her was reluctant to really tell Arnold and Ralphie what had happened because she knew both would kill Tim. Realistically, Arnold would probably make him move out (seeing as his grandparents owned the townhouse), and Ralphie would rough him up.

No, she wouldn't think any more about that for now. It was the first day of Chrismukkah, and she needed to get Arnold's first gift.

* * *

Since Phoebe had the house to herself, she and Arnold planned to celebrate Chrismukkah day one that evening at her place. Her hand swelled up even more and turned a darker purple as the day had gone on. There was no way she could hide it. To make things worse, she still couldn't find her ring down the drain. She was good about not using that side of the kitchen sink all day, but she knew she'd have to confess what happened to Arnold.

Since neither were the best cooks (Phoebe was learning but couldn't make a nice big dinner for them just yet), Arnold brought seafood from their favorite little local restaurant. Seeing as seafood was the only meat Phoebe could bring herself to eat ("I'm from New England with Louisiana blood in me, after all."), there was a bigger selection of dinners she could choose from, as opposed to always getting salads at the fancy steak places Arnold would treat her, Ralphie, and D.A. to.

"One grilled tuna and crab-stuffed lobster for me," Arnold said, putting the bags in the kitchen, "and one order of fried catfish fillets for you."

He was wearing his nice black slacks with a light blue collared shirt under a dark blue cashmere sweater...his usual style. His black loafers were shined almost to perfection, and his thick curls were styled _just_ right. Phoebe, on the other hand, was wearing jeans, a plaid blouse that was wrinkled, and a pair socks that had a hole on the bottom. Her hair was pulled up in a lazy bun, the shorter strands laying against her neck...her usual style.

"The sophisticated preppy nerd boy and his awkward hippie girlfriend with no sense of style, eh?" she asked, smiling.

He kissed her cheek. "Well, you like your men fancy and nerdy, and I like my girls awkward and Mother Earthly."

"Did you make sure there was no breading on the crab stuffing?" she asked. "I know they can sometimes add peanuts or some types of tree nuts to it."

"Didn't look like there was anything that could be dangerous to us."

In the fourth grade, Phoebe found out the hard way she had developed a peanut allergy. Arnold learned of his tree nut allergy when they were seniors in high school. In a way they were glad they had similar allergies because they knew what it was like living with certain restrictions and what to do in an emergency. D.A. and the guys were good about keeping anything they had that were nuts or nut-based away from any food Phoebe and Arnold ate. Phoebe knew her catfish was all right, as the restaurant did not use peanut oil.

They took the containers holding their meals to the dining table, and Phoebe lit the Chrismukkah menorah sitting in the middle. It had snowmen as the candle holders, and the base looked like a candy cane. While she did that, Arnold got the wine and poured two glasses.

"Merry Mazel Tov!" she said, picking up their blue Santa hats that read the same in bright red and white letters. She handed Arnold his when he came to the table.. "Ever since 2003."

They put their hats on, and Arnold pulled her close for a kiss. It was then he noticed her left hand was wrapped up in an ACE bandage.

"What happened?"

She pulled her hand away. "Oh, nothing. Slipped on ice and landed...on- on my hand."

Arnold shook his head. "No, really."

"Not now, okay? Please? Let's just eat and enjoy the night. I'll tell you later. Trust me, my hand looks worse than it feels."

He didn't look convinced, but he nodded. They said a dinner prayer, and before they started eating, they took their EpiPens out, as they always did, just in case. It had happened a couple of times before where one of them had to inject the other while at dinner.

Phoebe was trying to cut her fish with her right hand, which Arnold, as a fellow lefty, knew couldn't be easy. "At least let me cut your fish so you can eat it easier," he said.

"You don't have to."

"I _want_ to."

He took her meal and cut the fillets into smaller pieces. "Thanks," she said.

"You're welcome."

She sighed. "What a day. First my Jeep wouldn't start and- and then I hurt my hand. I'm just glad we're here together."

He smiled. "Me too." He took a bite of his crab-stuffed lobster. "Oh, this is excellent. Want a bite?"

"No, thanks."

He took a drink of wine, before taking another bite of the crab stuffing. He was almost halfway through the lobster tail when he said, "Oh- oh, shit."

Phoebe grabbed his EpiPen when she saw he was getting flushed and heard him wheezing. He was quick to lower his slacks enough for her to inject in his thigh. She got up to get a damp washcloth, and she patted his face with it.

"I should have quadruple checked," he said.

"Shh, it happens." She combed his hair with her fingers. "You're all right now. Why don't you go lay down on my bed, and I'll bring you a hot chocolate."

"I love you, Phoebe. Oh! I didn't give you my gift!"

She smiled. "Do it tomorrow. You need to rest."

He grasped and kissed her right hand. "Best fiancée ever."

* * *

**Thursday, December 22, 2011  
****Chrismukkah Day Two.**

Arnold felt better later in the night, enough for them to _celebrate_ the first night of Chrismukkah in her bed. Phoebe was the first one up the next morning, so she decided to start on breakfast. She felt her stomach fall when she heard the shower start.

Now that Arnold was up, she knew she would have to confess about her ring and how she really hurt her hand. She couldn't put it off any more. Though, did she need to tell him now, after what happened last night? She couldn't bring up that when he was still woozy from the allergic reaction.

After his shower, Arnold walked in the kitchen in just his boxer-briefs. He wrapped his arms around Phoebe's waist as she cooked his bacon. "Smells delicious," he said. He kissed her neck. "So what's the plan for Day Two?"

"Well, I thought we'd have a nice breakfast, maybe some more day sex, and then go to dinner."

"Excellent." He let go of her and went to the sink. "Hey, you want me to take a look at the drain? Maybe there's something I can do until D.A. comes back."

"No!"

In her haste to keep him from turning on the disposal, she hit the bacon skillet. Not only did she burn her right hand, but grease flew up and hit her on the left side of her face. Arnold's attention was now on her while she screamed, and he pulled her to the bathroom. He turned on the cold water in the tub, putting her face under first.

"Tell me when the burning stops." When she nodded, he pulled her back and put her hand under. "We need to get you to the ER since you were hit in the face. You all right to walk to your room while I go turn off the stove?"

Her face started to feel like it was being ripped apart again, and she realized she couldn't open her left eye. "Yeah. I can do that."

"I'll be in soon to help you dress. With one hand bruised and the other burned..."

_Shit_. She was down to no hands. It was bad enough she had busted her left hand, seeing as she was a lefty, but now she had a fairly big burn on her right. That thought suddenly made her aware that her right hand was throbbing and feeling just as ripped as her face.

Being down to one eye made her depth perception nil, so she was slow in going across the hall to her room. Arnold met her in there, and he got a pair of jeans and a t-shirt from her closet.

"Jeans and a 'Walker Lake Middle School Buccaneers Track & Field' shirt." He smiled. "I can't believe shirts from middle school fit you still."

She knew he was trying to keep her mind off the pain.

"I wear your shirts from childhood," she pointed out. The left side of her face felt tight, so her lip felt like it was being pulled up. "Do I look like Freddy Krueger?"

He smiled and helped her take her sleep shirt off. "Not yet." He carefully put her middle school t-shirt on her, and he pulled her pajama pants down. "You have a badass look about you right now, though."

"Two busted hands and a burned face? I can see that."

Arnold helped her in her jeans, buttoning and zipping them for her, and he helped with her socks and boots. He brushed her hair and put her winter hat on after he made sure her hair was presentable, and it was times like this she liked having a fiancé who was conscious of appearance.

He got dressed and straightened up himself when she was done, and he helped her with her coat and scarf before putting his on. Phoebe prayed she wouldn't slip on the ice, but Arnold's firm hold on her made her feel secure. He got them to the Porsche in one piece. The car had its winter tires on, so Phoebe didn't worry they'd slide all over the roads on the way to the hospital.

They got to the hospital in good time, and Arnold helped her across the slick parking lot. Fortunately, the emergency room wasn't too busy, and Arnold helped Phoebe sit while he went to check her in. Her face and hand were now hurting so bad, she wanted to throw up. Her other hand wasn't feeling too good either. Arnold came back, and he sat beside her, putting his arm around her and holding her close.

"I'm so sorry, Pheebs."

"For what?"

"If I hadn't startled you-"

"Wait," she interrupted, "you think this is your fault?"

"Well, yeah."

She tried really hard not to laugh, as that would make her scream in pain. "How long have we been together, on and off, and you haven't realized I can be very accident-prone?"

"Well, compromise: We're both at fault."

"Deal."

"Phobee Tersay?" a nurse called out.

Phoebe closed her eye and sighed. "Not the first time my name was pronounced wrong."

Arnold helped her up. "C'mon, Phobee."

"All right, Ronald."

* * *

After Phoebe got her burns treated and bandaged (a large white bandage covered a quarter of the left side of her face, including her eye), the doctor came in the room with antibiotic burn cream and papers that went over burn treatments.

"Well, Miss Terese, you have second degree burns on your hands, but your face was third degree. We'll send in a burn specialist to see you, but for right now, I want to give you the cream that will help the healing and infection prevention." He handed the cream to Arnold. "I trust you'll help with the changing of bandages and healing, Mr. Perlstein?"

"Yes, sir."

The doctor handed him some papers. "Here's all the information for treating second and third degree burns. The specialist will go over all of it with you both, and he'll decide if you need to come in for an evaluation for a graft, if he feels your burn is severe enough."

Phoebe shook her head. "A graft? Am I going to have a scar?"

"It's very likely. You may not be able to open your eye fully, though fortunately there's no injury to the eye itself. Also, you won't be able to grow that eye brow back."

Phoebe didn't care about not having hair on her face any more. The scar itself didn't bother her either. "Well, if my burn isn't so severe that I'm awake and not in agony right now, then I don't want the graft."

"You can discuss that with the burn specialist."

Arnold raised his brow. "You sure?"

"My face being scarred won't bother me. I'll be like Prince Zuko."

The doctor looked at Arnold. "Who?"

Arnold shook his head. He looked at Phoebe. "Well, if it won't bother you, and it doesn't bother me, then we'll let the burn specialist know you don't want a graft."

She smiled and mouthed an "I love you" to him. Hopefully, the rest of Chrismukkah would go by more smoothly. All the bad happened, so now, things could only go up.

* * *

**Friday, December 23, 2011  
****Chrismukkah Day Three.**

The rest of day two went by all right, but Phoebe still had to come clean about her ring. She decided to wait for the right time, and ice skating at the rink in downtown didn't seem like the right time.

Phoebe looked out the window of Arnold's Porsche, and she noticed they were getting on the highway. "Wait...where are we going?"

Arnold smiled. "New York City. We're skating at Rockefeller Center."

"Arnold!"

He continued to smile. "It's our first Chrismukkah since becoming engaged. Let's do it up!"

She scoffed. "I wouldn't have a problem falling on my ass in Walkerville, but New York?"

He reached over and took her arm, seeing as her hands were both still wrapped up. "You won't fall."

She pointed to the bandage over her left eye. "I have no depth perception, plus the fact I have poor motor skills."

"I'll make sure you won't fall."

And she didn't fall.

But Arnold did.

He ended up in the emergency room to get his nose checked out, and it turned out to be broken. Seeing as the swelling made it so he couldn't wear his glasses and Phoebe had one eye, they stayed at his grandparents' luxurious home in Manhattan for the night.

Arnold was laying on one of the guest beds, Phoebe making sure the gauze the doctor put in his nose wasn't leaking. Ruth Rosen, Arnold's grandmother, walked in, a servant behind her with cups of tea on a tray.

"How is my grandson feeling?" Ruth asked.

"Painkillers kicked in, so fantastic," he said.

"We're quite the pair," Phoebe said. "I have one eye and little use of my hands, and you have a busted nose."

"We're going to have to call Ralphie to get us tomorrow," he said. He looked at Ruth. "Did Granddad get my car?"

"He did. It's in the garage." His grandparents had a private underground garage. "Get some rest. Here's some tea to help you both sleep."

Phoebe noticed the look Ruth gave her as she left, as if she blamed Phoebe for Arnold's busted nose. The servant set the tray down on the dresser, and she shut the door behind her.

Arnold sat up. "I can help you with your tea," he said. "Painkillers are in full force."

She sat back against the pillows as he got up. He brought both cups to the bed, but he put one on the bedside table.

"I put sugar in yours," he said. "Like you like it."

Phoebe smiled. "You're so sweet."

He helped her drink it since she couldn't hold the cup. When she finished, he drank his tea. He put the empty cups on the dresser, and they got ready for bed. Since they didn't bring any overnight things, they slept in their underwear, and Phoebe knew Arnold was hating that he couldn't brush his teeth or wash his face.

Tomorrow was Christmas Eve, but all Phoebe could think of was how she was hoping this holiday would end already.

* * *

**note:** Stay tuned for Part II.


	2. Part II

**note:** So far we have a Jeep that won't start, a lost engagement ring that Phoebe believes is worth more than her, a busted left hand, a burned right hand, a burned face, an allergic reaction, and a broken nose. How can things get worse? Here's part two.

Don't own MSB.

Enjoy!

* * *

**the worst chrismukkah ever  
**by the ultimateSora

**PART TWO**

**Saturday, December 24, 2011  
****Chrismukkah Day Four. Christmas Eve.**

Ralphie took the train in to New York to get Arnold and Phoebe back to Walkerville. Phoebe took the back seat, Arnold the front, while Ralphie drove the Porsche home.

"My God, you two look like _shit_," Ralphie said. "I didn't want to say it in front of your grandparents, man, but _damn_."

"We're aware," Arnold said. He had his head tilted back just in case the gauze decided to leak some blood. "Pretty sure the people at the ER thought Phoebe and I beat each other up."

Ralphie laughed. "You two can barely beat a pillow up, let alone each other. Speaking of, Pheebs, how _did_ you hurt your hand?"

"I- slipped on ice."

"Bullshit."

"It's- it's true."

"You think after thirteen years of being step-siblings I wouldn't know when you're lying?" he asked. "What did you do?"

"Can we not talk about this now?"

"That's what she tells me," Arnold said. "Better to just drop it."

The rest of the ride back to Walkerville was quiet. Ralphie dropped Phoebe off at home, and she wished so much she could take a relaxing bubble bath. With her hands being hard to use and not being able to get her face bandages wet, she decided to plop on the couch and just watch TV.

She heard her phone ding, and she saw she had a mass-text from Keesha: _the wanda-keesha xmas spectacular tonight at the house. bring booze_

The last thing Phoebe wanted to do was go to a party, but maybe it would get her mind off how shitty the week had been so far. She texted back: _Can't speak for Arnold, but I'll be there_.

Keesha: _p without a? HA!_

_What's that supposed to mean?_

_you co-dependent gingers can't even fart without the other one right there holding their hand, let alone go to parties without each other_

_That's not true._

_right, and i'm not black and wanda isn't stupid as hell and d.a. has small tits_

_Shut up._

_your girlfriend has big tits. that's just fact_

_I meant shut up about me and Arnold._

_oh. well, i stand by the tits thing_

_Fair enough._

_see you tonight. BRING BOOZE_

Phoebe tossed her phone on the coffee table and decided to nap. She realized she drifted off when a sudden pain woke her. She had turned on her left side, putting pressure on her face and hand. She had been asleep for a good two hours, and she got up to change her face bandage.

Her left hand was still swollen and bruised, but the burn on her right hand was feeling better. She took that wrap off, moving her fingers to get the blood flow going, and she noticed the blisters had become smaller. Progress, at least. She went to the bathroom and got the things she needed to change her bandage and clean the area.

When the air hit the burn, she winced and wished Arnold was there to help her- _no!_ That was exactly what Keesha meant. She really couldn't do much without Arnold (or Dorothy Ann) around. She didn't want to be _that_ girl...the kind who was co-dependent and needed her boyfriend (or best friend/roommate) at all times. Though, the kind of crap she went through usually didn't happen when Dorothy Ann was around. Arnold, yes, obviously, but not D.A.

Maybe being dependent on D.A. wasn't a bad thing.

* * *

Ralphie was Arnold and Phoebe's ride to the party. Ralphie and Phoebe were wearing the tacky Christmas sweaters they bought the year the Terese-Tennellis decided to do a fun Christmas family photo, all four wearing tacky sweaters or, in Dr. T's case, a turtleneck with a tacky vest. Ralphie's sweater, which had Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer on it, even lit up.

Arnold would never wear something like that, Phoebe, knew, so he was wearing a dark red cardigan over a dark green button-down shirt with his brown slacks. The Wanda-Keesha X-mas Spectacular had one dress code rule: Must wear tacky Christmas attire, but they made exception for Arnold, who was "too prissy for such fun" (Keesha's words)/"too hot for tackiness" (Wanda's words).

"Wanda is going to flip a shit when she sees that plum you call your nose," Ralphie said.

"Maybe she'll stop comparing me to that stupid sparklepire she's obsessed with," Arnold said.

"To be fair, man, she made some good points about you looking like that douche."

"It wasn't my fault Janet spilled that glitter all over me!" He winced. "Shit, yelling makes my face hurt."

His nose has swelled even more since that morning, and both of his eyes were very black. It would be a while before he could wear his glasses, and Phoebe knew he wouldn't wear contacts, as they hurt his eyes.

"No Arnold-yelling?" Ralphie smirked. "Damn, what're we going to do without you going all angry on us? Carlos is going to go _insane_ without Mommy Arnold keeping us in line!"

Ralphie managed to find parking in the street not too far from Keesha and Wanda's house. There were already a lot of cars there, and Phoebe could hear the music when they got out of the Xterra. Ralphie and Arnold carried the bags of beer and liquor, since Phoebe's hands were still healing. To be safe, she went ahead and re-bandaged her right hand so the blisters wouldn't pop.

The house was almost packed when they walked in, and the three beelined to the kitchen where Wanda was making margaritas.

"So the bitches-" She turned and screamed when she saw Arnold. "Oh. My. _God! What happened?_" She cupped his face. "A beautiful work of art, damaged! This is horrible!" She took the bags from him, putting them on the counter, and she pulled him away with her, screaming about his face.

Phoebe sighed. "Well, leave it to Wanda to take my fiancé away with her, crying about his 'beautiful work of art' face when I'm standing right here."

"Well, you should have been firm with her in the beginning about Arnold being your man," Ralphie said.

Keesha walked over to them. "Psh, even if Phoebe peed on his leg, Wanda would still try to hump him."

Phoebe took one of the beers, holding it out to Ralphie for him to open. "I'm going to go- well, I don't know where I'm going. Outside maybe."

She walked out of the kitchen and decided not to try and find Arnold. She didn't trust Wanda, but she trusted him. She went out to the backyard, a few partygoers out there having a smoke. She took a drink of her beer, the cold bottle feeling nice against her bandaged hand. Hopefully the alcohol would help relax her and keep her mind off of her throbbing eye.

"_You sneaky little bitch!_"

Phoebe didn't have to turn around to know that was Janet Perlstein's voice screeching through the air. Unfortunately, she was the receiving end of that screech. Janet roughly grabbed her, the beer falling from Phoebe's hand. Phoebe was too weak to fight off Janet, her damaged hands not being able to do much, so there was no way she was going to keep from having her head dunked in the hot tub.

Since it was December, Keesha and Wanda had the pool covered, but the attached hot tub was not. It was on and bubbling away. Phoebe tried to remain relaxed and not let any of the water into her lungs. Janet's knee dug in her back, and her hold was too strong for Phoebe to try and push her head up.

The hot water made the bandage come off, and it burned her healing skin. That was enough to make her want to scream, but she knew that would be a bad idea. Fortunately, Janet was off of her, and she felt someone pull her out of the water.

"_What the hell, Janet?_" Dorothy Ann demanded.

Phoebe didn't care about the how or why D.A. was there. She just cared she was there. She grabbed D.A. in a tight hold and bent down to press her face against her neck.

"_She kissed Tim!_" Janet said. "She cheats on my cousin with the only guy I ever truly wanted!"

D.A. wrapped her arms around Phoebe, who was shivering now. "That's no excuse to drown her! Look at her! She's beat up enough as it is!"

Phoebe knew everyone was watching and listening, which made her press her face harder against D.A.'s skin. "_Can we go inside?"_ she asked, her voice low.

"Sure."

Just as Dorothy Ann was about to escort her in, Janet moved in their way. "No! Not until I get answers!"

"What's going on?"

_Great_. Now Arnold was out here.

"Your skeevy little _girlfriend_ kissed Tim!" Janet said. Her tone changed when she added, "What the _hell_ happened to your nose?"

"Not now. What's this about Phoebe kissing Tim?"

Phoebe knew she had to come clean. She pulled away from D.A. and walked over to Arnold. "Not here. Let's go inside."

Ten minutes later, Arnold had Tim's head in the hot tub.

* * *

**Sunday, December 25, 2011  
****Chrismukkah Day Five. Christmas Day.**

On the bright side, Dorothy Ann had come home early after hearing about Phoebe's injuries. On the crap side, Arnold was beyond livid that Phoebe hadn't come clean about what happened to her ring sooner, so he wasn't speaking to her just yet. He was also upset she didn't tell him Tim pushed himself on her, hence how she hurt her hand, but that anger was more directed at Tim. Phoebe knew it was best to give Arnold a couple of days to cool off, as his anger was all over the place.

"You should have told him."

Phoebe was resting her head on D.A.'s lap as they relaxed on the couch that morning. It was Christmas Day, but it didn't feel like it.

"I know, but I was waiting for the right time. Between injuries and all that, no time was right."

D.A. started to gently scratch Phoebe's head. "Until Janet screamed it to the world."

"Right."

"You know Arnold isn't mad at you for what Tim did. He's just upset you didn't tell him."

"I know."

"He'll call you when he's calm."

"I know."

D.A. reached for the remote and turned on the TV. "Well, Twenty-Four Hours of _A Christmas Story_ is on, so I say we watch."

Phoebe sat up. "Don't know if I'm in the mood."

"How can you not be? I mean, after all, your left eye looks like what would happen if one were to shoot their eye out."

Phoebe smiled. "I'm so glad you're home. Though, I am surprised your family let you go so early."

"They understood- well, my parents did." She got up. "I'll start on breakfast, and then we'll open what presents we have before you and Ralphie go to your parents' for Christmas dinner."

"Are you coming?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Please? Arnold isn't, so you'll have to be both me and Ralphie's 'date.'"

D.A. laughed as she went to the kitchen. "I knew someday I'd be dating both of you."

* * *

"So no Arnold?" Suzette Tennelli-Terese asked as Ralphie, Phoebe, and Dorothy Ann walked in the house.

They came in to the kitchen from the side door, and Phoebe felt her stomach rumble at the smell of her step-mother's cooking.

"Not this year," Ralphie said, taking off his coat. "Best to leave it at that."

"They didn't break up, did they?"

"No, Ma, they didn't break up."

Mark Terese walked in the kitchen. "Am I going to have to hunt that boy down for any reason?"

Ralphie held his hands up. "It's all good and fine, so Mark, there will be no hunting, and Ma, there will still be a wedding...eventually."

Phoebe had to admit she loved it when Ralphie would speak for her in these kind of situations. Since he was two months older, he would jokingly say it was his job as "the older brother."

When the food was ready, the four Ternellis and Dorothy Ann sat down after serving themselves in the kitchen. Ralphie and D.A. managed to keep the conversations off of Phoebe's injuries, why Arnold wasn't there, or anything concerning Arnold or Phoebe.

After dinner, Ralphie drove Phoebe and D.A. home, and with Arnold not around, Phoebe was happy D.A. was there to help her change her face bandage after she helped her wash her hair.

"I'm so glad you're home," Phoebe said as D.A. brushed out her damp hair. They were in the living room watching TV, Phoebe on the floor and D.A. on the couch.

D.A. smiled. "You've said that."

"I know, but it's true."

"So I assume Chrismukkah has ended early this year."

"Looks that way. Probably for the best. Every day has been one disaster after another."

D.A. reached forward and knocked on the wooden coffee table. "So far so good today, though."

"Well, Chrismukkah's been cancelled, so..."

"Point taken."

"And you're home, so extra luck has been added."

When D.A. was done, Phoebe got up and joined her on the couch. Snow began falling outside as they watched _It's a Wonderful Life_, and Phoebe hadn't realized she fell asleep until...

* * *

**Monday, December 26, 2011  
****Chrismukkah Day Six(?)**

...bright sunlight hit her eyes. Phoebe was on the couch, Dorothy Ann's Minnesota Vikings fleece blanket covering her. She realized that D.A.'s pillow with her faded Minnesota Twins pillow case covering it was under her head. She should have realized that as it smelled strong of D.A.'s perfume. Phoebe sat up, seeing the clock on the cable box reading "8:42."

"Want some breakfast?"

She turned at the sound of D.A.'s voice as she came out of the bathroom. "Breakfast sounds good."

D.A. walked towards her room. "Pancakes, bacon for me, and soy sausage for you. All of it nut-free. First, I shall change out of my robe and into some lazy-clothes."

While she changed, Phoebe got up to brush her teeth and check on her burns. Her hand looked all right to leave bare, but her face still needed a bandage. After she cleaned up for the day, she went to her room to change from her pajamas to a clean pair of sweat pants and a hoodie sweater.

Dorothy Ann was starting on breakfast when Phoebe walked out to the living room. Not only was D.A. Little Miss Fix-It, but she was also the cook of the two. Phoebe knew how to cook, but considering D.A. was better at it and knew more recipes, Phoebe was mainly the bug catcher and trash-taker-outer.

After breakfast, the two decided to spend the day at home, just watching movies all day. Phoebe heard her phone buzz during their third screening of _A Christmas Story_, and she saw she had a text.

It was from Arnold: _Want to talk. Come by around five?_

_Are you still mad at me?_

_I was never *mad* at you...irritated, yes, because you didn't just come clean right away, but you and I both know I can't stay away for long :)_

_My sappy pretty preppy nerd boy :')_

_So five?_

_Absolutely_

Phoebe put her phone down and patted D.A.'s arm. "Can I borrow your car tonight?"

"Why?"

"Arnold wants me to come over."

D.A. grinned. "I might need my car tomorrow. I'll drop you off."

* * *

Arnold had given Ralphie and Carlos enough bar-money to keep them busy for the evening and night. Though, he figured Ralphie would ditch Carlos at some point and make his way to D.A. and Phoebe's, since D.A. would have the house to herself. Tim hadn't come back to the townhouse since the night of the party, but Arnold didn't care. He was still pissed at him. Carlos had said he was crashing at Keesha and Wanda's, but again, Arnold didn't care.

The only light in the living room/kitchen/dining area of the townhouse was from the Christmas tree, the menorah on the mantle place, and the candles on the dining table. Arnold was wearing the same suit he wore when he had proposed to Phoebe, and he had their dinner ordered from the country club restaurant, checking both meals for any trace of tree-nuts and peanuts.

It was ten-til-five, and he felt his heart pound. It was like he was proposing all over again. He had a replacement ring in his pocket, all ready to go. She would be there at any moment. A good sign, he felt, was that his nose pain and swelling had gone down. His nose was _almost_ normal sized, but it was still too puffy for him to wear his glasses. Still, he didn't feel like he'd puke from the pain.

"Whatever you plan to do, don't!" Wanda came running in.

"Dammit, Wanda! Go home!"

She ran to him and grabbed his arms. "Don't propose to her! I still want you!"

"I've _already_ proposed to her!" He took the ring box from his pocket. "This is the replacement ring!"

Wanda grabbed it. "_Yoink!_" And she took off running out the front door.

"_Dammit, Wanda!_"

Arnold ran after her, out into the cold, snowy evening. How far could she possibly get in heeled boots and a skirt? Then again, this was _Wanda_. He hated to think what the snow and salt on the sidewalk would do to his suit and dress shoes, both of which were designer and tailored for him.

"Wanda, come back!"

She ran for her black Range Rover parked across the street. She opened the driver's side door and got in. Arnold almost expected her to take off, but she didn't even start the engine. He ran to the door and pounded on the window.

"Give me the ring!" he shouted.

"No! Not until you promise to give me- us!- a second chance!"

"_No!_ You cheated on me!"

"Two times! Big deal!"

He hit the window with his palm. "_Give me the ring!_"

"Take me back!"

"Give me _the goddamn ring!_"

"Dump her!"

Before he started to kick and punch the door, Dorothy Ann's car pulled up. Both she and Phoebe got out and ran over to Arnold.

"What's going on?" Phoebe asked.

Wanda held up the ring box. "It's mine now, loser!" She took the ring out and tried putting it on. "Damn, Terese! How does someone so bony have such sausage fingers?"

"I have large knuckles- _hey!_ That's my ring!" Phoebe looked at Arnold with wide eyes. "How-?"

"I had your ring insured, of course," he said. "I got a replacement, free of charge, but now, I'm trying to get it back from a short lunatic."

Dorothy Ann went to the driver's side door. "Wanda, pop the hood. I see smoke coming from under it."

Wanda's jaw dropped. "_What?_"

She popped the hood, and D.A. went to the front of the vehicle. Moments later, she came back with the spark plugs. "She's not going anywhere."

Arnold smiled. "Clever."

His smile was soon gone as he and Phoebe turned towards Wanda and shouted at the same time, "_Give me the ring!_"

"Outwitted by brainy tits," Wanda sighed.

Arnold, D.A., and Phoebe all tried to stifle laughter as they imagined what Keesha would have said. Wanda got out, and just as she was about to give Phoebe the ring, she turned, as if to throw it. Seeing D.A. standing behind her, she refrained from throwing, turned back around, and sighed as she gave Phoebe the ring. Phoebe quickly pocketed it.

"_Fine_. But this isn't over!"

D.A. put the spark plugs back. "Go home, Wanda."

"Nah. I'm going to the bars. A seven-and-seven should help me forget-" She gestured towards Arnold and Phoebe. "-_this_."

She got in the Range Rover and took off. D.A. took that as her leave, going to her car, and Arnold escorted Phoebe back in the townhouse. He made sure the door was locked, as if to keep any more interruptions from happening.

"Lucky D.A. was here," Phoebe said.

"Things have gotten better since she got back," Arnold said.

"She really is our luck charm, huh?"

Arnold wrapped his arms around her and gave her a kiss. "As much as I hate to admit it, yeah. Yeah, she is."

Phoebe ran her hands down his suit jacket. "Why didn't you tell me to dress up? Now I feel so underdressed in my sweats."

He smiled. "I don't know...I think it's kind of _us_. Me, dapper, and you, in sweats."

She moved her arms so she was holding him around his waist, and she laughed. "That is sadly true."

Arnold pulled back enough to reach for a glass of wine sitting on the table. "Here's to the worst Chrismukkah ever. It was so bad, we had to end it early."

"May we never have a worst one."

"Which means Dorothy Ann is not allowed to go out of town without us."

Phoebe didn't know how to end it, so she said, "Uhm, amen."

* * *

**note:** Well, hope you enjoyed this little fic. May your Chrismukkahs never be as bad as Arnold and Phoebe's was in this story.


End file.
